


Longview

by Soxry



Category: Sukisho
Genre: Insomnia, M/M, Modern AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slice of Life, skinny love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-10 04:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11684322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soxry/pseuds/Soxry
Summary: modern au stuff. sora scraped the back of his hand pretty bad on a car before the fic





	1. 1

It isn’t hard for Sora to zone out if it’s his turn to wash the dishes, his eyes entirely unfocused as suds roll around his knuckles. It isn’t uncommon, either, for him to forget to wear gloves when he has knicks on his hands from being as clumsy as he is, ranging anywhere from papercuts, to cat scratches, to huge open gashes acquired from being too careless while passing too close to the sharp edges of an old car, just around where the wheel is.  
  
It’s not until he pours a cup he’d been cleaning out over the back of his hand and hot, soapy water immediately soaks through the bandages Nanami had so carefully wrapped himself that Sora comes to with a yelp. The cup, thankfully plastic, clatters back to what Sora still needs to clean when he immediately drops it to grasp where he’s hurt.  
  
He applies pressure with his newly free hand and scolds himself for making such a mistake and screws up his face in a way he’d only do in private. Sora groans to himself:  
  
“Idiot.”  
  
And unwraps his wound, not wanting to risk the bacteria that’d thrive in a damp bandage. The blood that had initially soaked into his dressing is now brown as opposed to the frightening bright red Sora’d dripped when he first tore his skin.  
  
Sora breathes deep to calm himself, examining the strips throughout the wound of untouched skin- examining how jagged the scrape was. It was easier to see now that he wasn’t panicking in Nanami’s office.  
  
At the time, Nanami- ever the saint- continued to speak gently to Sora, asking him what he’d eaten for breakfast, and telling him he was being very brave. In retrospect, Nanami was handling the situation like a nurse at an elementary school instead of one that deals exclusively with high schoolers, but if that’s what it took to calm him, Sora doesn’t mind.  
  
Sora decides he’s going to take a break from the chore he should have completed the day before right as Shinichiro texts asking if he’d finished. Sora responds that yes, the dishes were cleaned and put away, under the assumption that he’d return to the task before his guardian returned.  
  
And then Sora is sitting on the top floor of the mall’s parking garage, head tipped back against the concrete wall. Having rewrapped his wound, he tightens his fresh bandages and yawns into his shoulder. Sora takes deep, deep breaths of the open air, filling his lungs with a feeling he likes.

Meanwhile, Nao’s spine is curved forward, exposed to the elements of his bathroom. He rests his forehead briefly against the cool of the toilet seat, too exhausted to care, and then lurches again to vomit. Nao wishes his hands were free to support himself with more than his elbows, but his hair was down when he made the run.  
  
Nao does not have a virus or infection despite how often he falls ill from sleep deprivation alone. He had been halfway through dressing himself to meet up with Matsuri, wherever it was Matsuri officially decided by the time he was ready to leave, when a person who was not there- a person who does not and should not have his address- screamed in his ear, causing him to stumble sideways, on full defense. Hyperventilating and shaking, Nao whipped his head side to side searching for the intruder, but upon realizing it was a flashback-style hallucination, grief pounded Nao’s stomach from its back, sending his hands to clasp over his mouth and his legs to run to his bathroom, still shirtless.  
  
Empty and devastated that an absent force could cause such an extreme physical reaction from him, Nao sits back on his feet, dabbing his mouth with toilet paper. He wishes he could go more than a few weeks without reversing a meal like this.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the kids don't buy anything

Sora is greeted by Matsuri’s car parking at an illegal angle directly beside him, and from the passenger’s side, Nao leans out all the way from his waist, hair high up in a yellow scrunchy this time.

“Sora, sweetheart,” Nao sing-songs, “We knew you’d be here.”  
  
“Sunao, baaaaaby,” Sora returns the tone, getting up and approaching Nao with outstretched arms and making kissy noises, eyes half closed.

Nao shrieks and scrambles to get back in the car, screaming at Matsuri to ‘leave this horrible place at once.’ Matsuri’s hair features braids looping from his bangs to the intricate, but still very messy bun keeping him from sitting on his own hair while he drives. Matsuri doesn’t listen to his pink-haired friend’s pleas and instead laughs. This set of events is a regular occurrence among the three of them.

Sora still for some reason feels that Matsuri grew out of his natural blond while they were young, and bleaches it to keep up the illusion. Sora has no proof to back up his suspicions other than the time he’d showed up to Matsuri’s home unannounced over break, and saw something rather dark reflecting at the base of the hairline he’d created for his two relaxed braids.

Regardless, even if Sora would give his life for Matsuri, he doesn’t trust the façade he creates for public opinion, as if he were trying to fit an archetype in a TV show. He knows Matsuri has got to be hiding something under his perfect exterior.

Instead of fixing his parking job, Matsuri halts his engine, deciding his car was in an acceptable position, which it was not. He climbs out like a normal person, and Nao follows suit, crawling across the car to exit through the driver’s side, still cautious of a certain scenery-print enthusiast. This time, Sora is wearing a tank top featuring a sunset behind some mountains and pine trees.

Sora loves his shirt. Sora loves all of his shirts, even the shitty ones Shinichiro buys him on business trips. He cuts the sleeves off of those ones to make them more rock’n’roll. Nanami says he looks “cool,” like the man was trying out new slang.

Sora also loves his dads. Not in a shirt way, in a son way.

Nao and Matsuri goad Sora into coming to loiter in the mall with them, despite his protests of there being no point to it if he didn’t have any money on him. In the process, Matsuri promised him a kiss and Sora cooed, right before shoving the blond towards a passingby couple.

“Can you imagine owning something like this?” Sora asked his friends, thumbing over a pair of white high-tops with its inside lined with deer fur. The pricetag asked for more than Sora’d ever seen all at once, which was upsetting because the item was on sale.

“Wouldn’t this get ripped up and dirty?” Nao said, joining in to pet the inside of the shoe.

“Actually, we’ve thought about that.” An employee appears, a bald man in a tailored suit, hands clasped in preparation to pitch the sale to the three obviously broke teenagers.

“Is that so? How’s that work?” Matsuri falls right into his trap, hands propping onto his hips and head cocking to the side. Sora and Nao take advantage of their blond friend falling victim and flee the scene, speed-walking with their spines arched forward and Sora’s hand guiding Nao by his lower back. Once a few stores away, they stop holding their breaths, which breaks into cackling, guiltily checking over their shoulders in case Matsuri had been following them.

“That was mean of us,” Sora says, wiping his eye.

“He’s a big boy, he can handle a sales pitch.” Nao assures him, stopping to redo his ponytail in the reflection of a storefront. Sora loses himself in the way Nao’s hair falls in its own weight, his arms crossed across his stomach. Nao’s let him play with it a few times, and for that, Sora is grateful. Sora’s hands twitch in anticipation, and because just reaching out would be inappropriate, he runs his hands through his own hair, looking away. To a third party, there are two teenagers touching their own hair in front of a lingerie shop, but nowhere near the door.

“I do actually want those shoes, though.”

The confession strikes Sora somewhere in his stomach because he now wishes Nao could have those shoes. The lingerie store is right next to a juice stand and Nao abandons Sora’s side to try one of the samples being given out. Sora watches after him and wishes he could smell the side of Nao’s neck. Sora pinches himself for this.

When Matsuri finally finds them, he screams a lot but doesn’t mean any harm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey ik i said this but my sukisho blog is http://ghostdate.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> my sukisho sideblog is http://ghostdate.tumblr.com/ and i didnt start this with anything in mind. also this chapter is short for me and it is devastating.


End file.
